


5 Times Bruce Didn't Hulk Out + 1 Time He Really Should Have

by ThisStrangeObsession



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisStrangeObsession/pseuds/ThisStrangeObsession
Summary: Some people forget that Bruce Banner is a badass in his own right. But not us.





	1. Chapter 1

“All I'm saying,” Tony argued, gesturing to the pizza place up ahead, “is that after smashing all those tanks yesterday, the Big Guy deserves a greasy, New York-style extra large.”

Bruce almost rolled his eyes, already regretting accepting the insomniac engineer's 3am invite to get take-out. But after spending 12 hours passed out post-transformation, cooking was the last thing he’d wanted to do, and pizza sounded infinitely more tempting than whatever was left over from Thor and Steve’s inevitable binge when they’d gotten back from the mission.

“For the last time, Tony, he doesn’t need to eat. And the physiological implications for me—”

“C’mon, Bruce. I watched you consume your bodyweight in pasta last month after the Siberia incident. One pizza’s not going to—”

“Give me your money.”

The voice came from behind them, followed by the _click_ of a gun ready to fire, and they turned to find two muggers, only one of them armed. As Bruce stared down the weapon's barrel, icy tendrils of fear crept up his spine – and not for himself.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” Tony asked. 

“Yeah, we know who you are, Stark,” the gunman said.

Tony smirked, nodding at Bruce. “I meant the other guy.”

“Tony…”

“Don’t make him angry. You wouldn’t like him when he’s—”

“Tony!” Bruce snapped. They were too close; a transformation now would likely crush his friend, not to mention what could happen once these petty thieves had been pummeled into broken, bloody sacks. The Police Chief himself had issued a ‘do not engage’ order for the Hulk after the Battle of New York, but rules were made to be broken, and if there was one thing Bruce Banner had learned, it was never to trust trigger-happy authority figures around an enormous green rage monster. 

The engineer sighed, unconcerned. “I don’t carry cash.”

“I do,” the scientist said, slowly pulling out his wallet.

“Bruce, what are you doing?”

“This isn’t worth their lives, Tony.” He emptied the billfold’s contents. “Here.”

Mugger #2 looked confused, but took the money and held out an open palm toward Stark. “Gimme your watch and your phone.”

“First, it’s not a watch. Second, it’s locked to my biometric signature, so it’s useless to you. And third—” he said, tapping on his Stark Tech cell, “—you might want to have a look at this.”

Bruce didn’t even need to see his own headshot on the screen to know that Tony had accessed his file; Mugger #2’s reaction as he scrolled through was enough. The man’s eyes widened, realization building into horror, and Bruce looked at the ground.

“Put the gun down,” the man whispered.

“What?”

A distinctive roar echoed through the speaker. Whenever possible, the team took surveillance footage of each mission at Bruce’s request, to ease his conscience that no innocents were harmed, but he hadn’t yet had a chance to review this one. Hearing the destruction that followed, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Put the fucking gun down!” Mugger #2 demanded, his shaking hand dropping the phone.

A hologram of the video shot up between both pairs of men. The camera had captured the Hulk as he charged at a firing tank, tearing off its mounted gun and using it to bludgeon nearby Hydra agents to death before leaping onto the armored vehicle. He smashed it into a pile of scrap as the driver and gunman’s screams pierced through the cracked metal frame. Bruce winced.

The clip ended on Hulk’s monstrous features settling into a relatively calm grimace, as if pleased with his work. When the image cut out, it was Bruce the muggers faced, and once seen, the resemblance between the monster and the man was impossible to ignore.

Mugger #2 was shaking, tearful eyes darting between Bruce and his armed friend. Mugger #1 simply stared in shock, so focused on Bruce that he didn’t even respond as Tony plucked the gun from his hand.

“I’ll take that,” Stark said. He pointed to the money Bruce had surrendered. “And he’ll take that.”

Mugger #2’s trembling fingers held out the wad of cash. The scientist calmly tucked it back into his wallet and looked between the would-be thieves.

“Leave.” They merely blinked at him, neither man moving a muscle until Bruce took a step forward. “Now.”

Instantly, they took off running, almost tripping over each other as they scrambled to escape. When they’d disappeared around the corner, Bruce bent and picked up Tony’s phone, slipping his glasses on to scroll up his file.

“I’m 5’8” and a half, actually,” he said, tossing the thin glass device to his friend.

“Sure you are, big guy.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, and as they continued on their way, the engineer paused, eying another open take-out place. “Do you think he likes cheeseburgers?”

Bruce sighed. Next time, he’d just cook.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you mean, ‘up close’?”

Bruce turned to Steve, but the Captain had already merged back into the crowd. Running after him just to clarify the details of Natasha’s ‘flirting’ would bring more embarrassment than answers, and the scientist turned back to the bar, shaking his head. It was none of his business, anyway.

He stared into his Russian Red martini, plucking the maraschino cherry from its tiny skewer and neglecting the rest of the glass’s contents. Chalk it up to childhood trauma, but alcohol hadn’t been his choice of drink even before the accident, and now, his irradiated blood instantly metabolized anything short of an elephant tranquilizer. Though the little circular flask of Asgardian liquor Thor had been waving around earlier might do the trick, Bruce wasn’t about to risk finding out he was an angry drunk.

While the other Avengers mingled, Bruce milled about on the periphery with his almost-untouched drink in hand, speaking to no one and keeping his head down. The odd time he did look up, he couldn’t help but think cautious glances and nervous whispers followed his every move. Save for Cap’s old war buddies, everyone here had worked for or with the Avengers in some capacity; they all knew who – and more precisely, what – Bruce was, even if he rarely interacted with their support team. Whether no one had looked close enough to recognize the anxious scientist in their midst, or they’d wisely decided to give him space, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he’d rather just be among friends.

Bruce searched for the clamor that always surrounded Tony. Getting drawn into the center of attention was an unfortunate side effect of befriending the extroverted engineer, but if anyone could help Bruce feel slightly more at ease in this crowd, it was him. He spotted Stark one level down in the billiards area, losing a game of darts against Clint, who, chugging a beer and pointedly looking away from the target, was undoubtedly making a pincushion of the bullseye. Even so, Bruce decided to stay back until the air was clear of deadly projectiles, lest he be caught in the crossfire. No one wanted to see _his_ party trick.

He wove around a cluster of guests near the stairs, politely stepping aside as a new group of people came up, and tried to unobtrusively squeeze by when they’d passed. Instead, a slightly inebriated man about Steve’s size cut in front of him, knocking the glass from Bruce’s hand. The red martini spilled down the partygoer’s white dress shirt.

“What the hell!” the man snapped as he spun around, knocking Bruce into a nearby table. “Watch where you’re—”

His eyes flashed with recognition, widening in terror as he realized who he’d just assaulted. He stared down at the smaller man, but it wasn’t Bruce he was looking at, not really; he was searching for signs of the monster within. It was the same look Natasha had had in Calcutta.

“D-Dr. Banner,” he stuttered softly, backing away with open palms and bent knees in a fluid, familiar motion – SHIELD training for encounters with the Hulk. But muscle memory couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Bruce righted himself and glanced around to find everyone in the vicinity fixed on him with mirrored expressions of fear. They stood or sat frozen, watching, waiting, worrying, likewise trained not to run – the Other Guy might mistake a moving target for a threat.

“It’s okay, I’m not—” Bruce stopped, the word _angry_ dissolving on his tongue. Instead, he just shook his head. “It’s okay.”

The man relaxed slightly, letting his hands slowly drop to his sides. Strains of smooth jazz played overhead, louder for the sudden absence of conversation nearby, and the distinctive _tap-tap_ of Steve’s precise footsteps cut through the music.

“Bruce? You all right?” he asked. His usual earnest tone was only mildly concerned, more for Bruce’s well-being than fear of an unexpected Code Green; the Captain’s trust in his team was unwavering, even the most reluctant – and the most dangerous – Avenger. Bruce couldn’t help but think it was more than either of them deserved.

“Yeah. We’re, uh—we’re good here, Steve.”

He glanced over the railing at Thor, whose heightened hearing had picked up the man’s fearful apology and now watched the exchange with a wary stance. Mjolnir still decorated a nearby coffee table, the weapon merely a conversation piece tonight, but always close at hand should it be needed. The Asgardian was forbidden to interfere with the Hulk when humans were present unless it was absolutely certain he meant them harm; the risk of collateral damage was far too high. Thankfully, they’d never needed to put that rule to the test. Yet.

“Glad to hear it.” The Captain clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, an assurance to everyone that the danger had passed. He turned to the former SHIELD agent. “Are you okay?”

The man’s eyes were still glassy with tears as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Steve offered the man a change of clothes, leading him away, and tension ebbed from the room. As they headed downstairs, Bruce chuckled softly to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asked, appearing beside him as if from nowhere. Of course she’d been nearby, ready to step in and talk the Other Guy down if he _did_ show up. Why else would she be here, since she’d decided not to _run with it_, if leaving him alone at the bar was any indication?

He gave her a self-conscious smirk. “For once, I’m not the one who needs a new shirt.”

Natasha watched the man leave, his legs still slightly shaking, and matched Bruce’s wry grin. “Pretty sure he needs a new pair of underwear, too.”

Bruce muffled a groan of disgust with his hand. It was damp, smelling of vodka, and when he brought it away, he saw it was tinged red where the martini had spilled.

_No. Don’t think about it. Don’t—_

But it was too late. The memory of crimson-coated fingers – not his blood, never his blood – swept over him, fresh and warm and human. Corpses littered the ground, imploded bodies held together by Kevlar and sheer luck. Mangled dismembered limbs dotted the battlefield, remnants of shattered helmets clinging to crushed skulls. Death, as far as the eye could see. This was the path of destruction the Hulk left behind, the path Bruce was forced to walk when the fighting was done. The path he had chosen.

Though he had no qualms about putting an end to the schemes of literal Nazis, he hated letting Hulk kill humans. The Chitauri had been an alien hivemind, made only for war, but Hydra agents were people, and people could change. Maybe the few survivors would, now that they’d been freed from their fanatical leaders’ influence. None who had encountered the Hulk would ever get that chance.

Only after the latest mission had Bruce awoken to find his hands clean, but it was the beating of giant fists against snow, not any restraint on Hulk’s part, that had left no trace of the massacre on their skin.

_The gates of Hel are filled with the screams of his victims…_

Tears stung Bruce’s eyes, and he turned from Natasha to the nearest empty table. He grabbed a wad of napkins, furiously scrubbing the tinted alcohol from his flesh.

“Bruce?” Natasha asked.

He looked up. The party guests no longer openly gawked at him, but their voices were low, drinks abandoned as each planned a subtle retreat. Those nearest the exits had already gone; unless he left, the others would follow. 

“I have to go,” he replied, tossing the crumpled paper into an empty beer glass. He headed for the staircase leading up to the lab, but Natasha met him there, blocking his way.

“What are you doing?” she asked, crossing her arms. No one escaped an interrogation by the Black Widow. Not even a friend.

Bruce hesitated, gaze shifting between her and his retreat point. Finally, he looked her in the eye. “Avoiding the fight.”

Suddenly, the music stopped.

“Okay, party’s over,” Tony announced from below. “Literally. Avengers and VIPs only. Goodnight.”

Bruce saw Thor by Stark’s side, adding authority to the command; no doubt he’d told Stark what had happened. The nearby party guests appreciated the intervention, too, if the speed with which they vacated Bruce’s floor was any indication. Not one person met his eye as they hurried for the exit.

They weren’t the only ones happy to leave this tower. Maybe the new compound upstate would finally give him room to breathe, or at least, fewer risks to worry about, like endangering 8 million people if he fell down the stairs, or spilled scalding tea on himself, or—or—

“Banner, get your purple stretchy pants down here,” Tony called.

Nat smirked and started to descend the staircase. Bruce sighed, following. “I’m not wearing my purple stretchy pants, Tony.”

“Too bad. I was gonna ask Big Green if he wants to do shots.”

Even Bruce had to admit the mental picture was hilarious, if still absolutely terrifying, and the worst part was, Tony probably wasn’t joking. He was forever trying to find ways to humanize the creature, make him a team player, make him a friend. But Bruce knew the Hulk would never be anything more than a monster. And neither would he.

“He’s not invited,” Bruce said, making his way over to the far sofa.

“He’s an Avenger,” Tony pointed out.

_And I’m not_, the scientist thought. He was Clint’s bow, Cap’s shield, Thor’s hammer – just the conduit for a power no one else could wield. If this was where he could do the most good, so be it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it, even if, despite himself, he’d grown to like this group of messed up mostly-humans. For the first time in years, he had a lab, a life, a home. Somewhere along the way, he’d even managed to make friends. He may not be an Avenger, but he was, in his own way, a part of this team, and that was enough.

Bruce looked to his readiest excuse – the only person in the room who hadn’t met the Other Guy. “We still have company.”

Dr. Cho was too busy laughing at something Thor had said to notice Bruce nod toward her, but the Asgardian caught his eye.

“Here, Banner,” he said, pouring from the silver flask. He held out a shot glass full of dark amber liquor. “Have a drink in his stead.”

Bruce shook his head. “Won’t have any effect on me.”

“This is no diluted Midgardian swill. It was aged for a thousand years—”

“It packs a punch,” Steve interrupted as he joined them again, clearly speaking from experience. “But you can take it.”

If Steve was still standing, whatever was in that elixir wouldn’t last long against the poison that ran through Bruce’s veins. He wondered, not for the first time, just how close his serum had been to Erskine’s formula before everything had gone so horribly wrong. The German scientist’s written opus had been destroyed, but the premise behind his work – that good became great, bad became worse – had survived along with its living embodiment. And so it was that people looked at Steve and saw a hero. They looked at Bruce and saw… something worse.

_If you were a better man, you wouldn’t have become a monster._

Bruce took the shot glass from Thor and slung it back, wincing at the exotic alcohol’s burn, and waited, already slightly giddy at the warmth spreading through him. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to lower his inhibitions - forgotten how to forget, even if just for a little while. Funny, that it took alien booze to make him feel more human. Or maybe it was the friends around him, laughing, chatting, saying goodbye to the tower that had become home. For the first time in days, Bruce finally managed to relax.

And it turned out he was a silly drunk.


End file.
